


Sherlollipops - By Blood and Leaf

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [74]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Vamp!lock, Vamplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anonymous on tumblr said: Kid!Vamplock and Elfling!Molly were the best of friends as children; but when the Moriarty vampire clan assassinated the Elven King the war between the two species separated them. Now as a deal to stop the hostilities Vampire Prince Sherlock is in an Arranged marriage with the Elven Princess and heir to the Elven throne Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - By Blood and Leaf

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork provided by the fabulous o0katiekins0o (o0katiekins0o.tumblr.com)

Childhood friends. That was what she and Sherlock had been, in more innocent times. Both Elves and Vampires were nocturnal, the one by choice, the other by necessity, and that commonality had been one of the foundations of their alliance, an alliance that had lasted for thousands of years, long enough that the two of them had been able to play together in the nighttime forests their separate peoples had once shared in relative harmony. Then had come the wars and the betrayals and hundreds of years of anger and mistrust; they’d grown up, never seeing one another again until now, tonight.

Their wedding night.

Princess Malia’arapar, affectionately known as ‘Molly’ to friends and family, leaned on the cool metal balustrade that ran the curved length of the balcony she currently occupied. She’d had such high hopes when this all started; she’d come into this arranged marriage prepared to do her duty, to act as wife and helpmeet to her new husband, but Prince Sherlock’s abrupt and dismissive attitude toward her, his obviously feigned politeness during the wedding ceremony, the cold kiss he’d bestowed upon her at the end of their vows, and the way he’d avoided her throughout the feast that followed made it clear that she was nothing but an unwelcome burden.

“I don’t count,” she said softly, forlornly, then stiffened as she heard quiet footsteps behind her.

“You’re wrong, you know.” Her heart fluttered madly in her chest as she recognized that voice. Sherlock’s voice, the voice of her husband, that she’d last heard earlier in the day reciting their vows. Drawing in a steadying breath, she turned to face him, head held high, no tears in her dark brown eyes. She was a princess, with all the innate dignity her rank afforded her even if she wasn’t nearly as tall and graceful and lissome as some of her sisters.

Sherlock moved closer to her, a dark form seeming to materialize out of the darkness around him as he joined her on the balcony. His blue-green eyes glittered, reflecting the moonlight, and his pale skin seemed to glow as he moved out of the shadows. Gone were the formal robes he’d worn at their wedding ceremony, just as she’d changed out of her own ornate gown and flowing green veil. Where she was now clad in a simple white shift, he had changed into close-fitting black trews and matching shirt, open at the throat but with flowing black sleeves. She waited for him to speak again, and when he did, she questioned her own hearing. “You’ve always counted,” he continued, his voice a low rumble as he stopped only a few feet in front of her. “You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.”

“How can you say that when we haven’t seen each other since we were children?” Molly asked, bewildered by this abrupt change in attitude, and not a little suspicious. Was he trying to manipulate her, had his elder brother, King Mycroft, told him to make nice with his wife for the sake of the treaty their two peoples had just signed? If so he needn’t have bothered; she had no intention of going back on her word just because her new husband was cold and distant. Marriages had survived far worse throughout history, and royal marriages rarely ever started out as love matches outside of human fairy tales.

He raked a hand through his dark curls, disheveling them so that one fell fetchingly over his brow. He huffed it away impatiently while Molly waited for his answer. “That’s not…entirely true,” Sherlock admitted, and she cocked her head to the side in silent question, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “I’ve seen you, watched you when you didn’t know I was there. Like the time you fell and scraped your knee on the edge of your father’s koi pond. Or the time you and your handmaidens were bathing in the moonlight in the River Eld.” His voice was husky and he’d moved closer, the dark centers of his eyes expanding to swallow up the blue-green with what Molly feared to identify as passion. “And when you were singing to your father’s herd of deer, enchanting them into sleep when they were restless and unsettled after an attack by the Moriarty clan.”

“Why?” She needed to know the answer, but not just why he’d watched her, risked his life to do so, and yet never reached out to her – and then was so cold and dismissive at their wedding feast.

Sherlock, always clever and quick on the uptake, seemed to understand how much she wanted answered with that simple question. “The Moriarty clan might be defeated, but they’re hardly destroyed,” he said. “If their spies – and yes, I’m positive there were Moriarty spies at the wedding – if they saw me showing affection toward you, they would view you as a tool, a weapon to wield against me. And I won’t have anyone using you that way,” he said, fangs flashing as he peeled his lips back in an angry scowl. “It’s bad enough you were forced to marry me against your will…”

“Not entirely against my will,” she murmured, knowing he must be able to hear her thundering heartbeat in her chest. “I remembered the boy you once were, who played with me in my father’s gardens under the moonlight, who teased me but never tormented me. I was hoping that you’d remember me, but now I understand why you pretended indifference. But Sherlock, why did you…”

“Risk my life and freedom just to catch glimpses of you now and again?” he finished her question with a wry grin. The grin faded and he looked at her with such intensity she felt quite out of breath. “Simple. Because I missed you. My friend J’ahn thought I was mad, but he came with me anyway, to watch my back as I watched you.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “I needed to know you were safe, that the war hadn’t filled you with hatred or hardened your heart, because your heart, Molly,” he said, reaching out to lay his hand over her chest, but careful not to touch her, “has always been filled with love and kindness and I needed to be reminded that such things still existed in the world.”

She was the one who moved this time, a single step, just close enough that his hand came to rest on her bare flesh, just above the low neckline of her shift. Just above the organ in question. “Sherlock,” she whispered, “I make my vow, never to allow such a thing to happen to me. To either of us,” she added fiercely, daring to reach out and rest her fingertips against the sharp angles of his face. “Just as I swore to remain faithful to you until death, to honor our marriage…”

“To give me heirs?” Sherlock’s voice had lowered to a purr; the hand on her chest slid around her back, bringing her body flush against his. He lowered his head so that his lips hovered over hers, their breaths mingling as he murmured, “To share my life and my bed as my wife and partner, as my queen when someday my dear brother steps aside and forces me to take the throne as he’s threatened to do so many times?”

“All of that and more,” she breathed, and then his lips were on hers for a kiss as fiery and passionate as their wedding kiss had been cold and chaste.

They made love right there, under the indifferent face of the moon and the distant glittering of the stars, and again in the royal bedchamber, when Sherlock swept her into his arms and held her close enough to feel pounding heartbeat as she laid her head against his chest. He took her blood, his fangs buried in her throat and his lips warm against her flesh as she cried out her pleasure, and the songs of the nightbirds were far less sweeter to his ears than the sound of her voice calling his name.

Their lives were now entwined, their fates entangled, and if they were cool and distant to one another in public, it was only a façade for their passionate interactions when away from prying eyes. One day, when the Moriarty clan had been rendered entirely ineffectual, their pretense would end, but until then their love for one another remained a secret blooming in the gardens of their hearts.


End file.
